


Not Yours to Promise

by jestwane (transience)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi's dad's reaction to his son's relationship with Midorima, Angst, Arguing, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Doubt, Fights, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Living Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Picnics, Tears, is not pleasant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transience/pseuds/jestwane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders what it's like to lose everything, and how true the statement "You're my everything" really is.</p><p>They have been serious for 5 years now, and counting, and they have always loved each other, and always will, but the world hardly gives out happy endings. </p><p>Their relationship is fated to end, one way or another, and neither can do anything to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Yours to Promise

**Author's Note:**

> based on a story that is, to my knowledge, true.
> 
> This story is also discontinued as I disliked the formatting, but I'm leaving it up as a drabble/one-shot thing. I may come back to tie it up properly as best as I can in the future but I'll be rewriting this story differently first.

 

 

 

> “I’ve always loved you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Akashi never understood why people would proclaim “you’re my everything” or give bouquets of dark red roses to their significant other. No one can be another’s everything, can they? For relationships are so fragile, so ephemeral, and forever is no one’s to promise.

It was one thing to lie to those who didn’t matter, but wasn’t it a different matter to lie to those you loved?

(Akashi soon realises why many felt the need to lie to their loved ones, and he realises that not all those reasons are bad. But some lies were necessary, and some truths were better off hidden.)

Everything comes to an end, after all. Stars cannot escape black holes, man cannot defy gravity alone, and death waits for us all.

 

* * *

 

 

He wonders what it would be like to lose one’s “everything”, but losing has always been an unfamiliar and sensitive thing for Akashi.

Lost didn’t taste bitter, though, unlike what Akashi had expected.

Then again, he supposes he shouldn’t have believed the world. They were the ones that had said victory was sweet, after all.

Victory wasn’t dizzying or exhilarating or cheerful to Akashi. Victory was quiet and cold, and it had a metallic taste.

Akashi imagines a blizzard of a white so pure it blinded, and so heavy it trapped and stifled, robbing the snow of any of its beauty or gentleness. He imagines the snowflakes, supposedly unique, but all too weak. Perhaps no two snowflakes were alike, but in a storm they may as well be. Just as how despite the obvious differences in the playing styles of many basketballers, in the end they were all pawns. He tastes salt after each victory, but he does not know whether it is the saltiness of blood, sweat, or tears that he tastes, or whether they were even his own.

 

Lost on the other hand had the muted taste of a vanilla cone on a warm summer day, or warm milk on a cool winter’s night. And Akashi can’t honestly say he didn’t appreciate that moment.

 

* * *

 

 

 

>  
> 
> “Midorima.”
> 
> “Akashi.”
> 
> “I… I apologise.”

_I’m sorry. Sorry for the past years, the other me, my words, my actions. I’m sorry that I watched you all turn into monsters and did nothing to stop it, I’m sorry I encouraged it._

Midorima knew him enough to understand him, and was smart enough to read between the lines, and he nods. Akashi doesn’t miss the slight widening of viridian eyes, and neither is he finished.

 

 

 

> “I love you.”

Midorima’s eyes widen further to comical proportions, and a look of panic crosses his visage. Akashi smiles a small smile, gaze moving to the side as he turns to leave. He only gets as far as a few steps.

 

 

> “Since when?” Midorima splutters.

Akashi stops.

 

 

 

> “You don’t have to feel obligated, Midorima. It’s all right.”

I can take rejection, I knew there was only a slight chance you would reciprocate. I knew you had made new friends, had moved on from that surreal last year at Teiko.

 

 

> “I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

 

They had been together for about 5 years. The first few years had been rough, and with both coming from traditional conservative families, their relationship wasn’t received as well as they may have allowed themselves to hope.

 

 

 

> _Slap!_
> 
> The sound of the impact is jarring even to Midorima, but he stays outside the room because it is what Akashi wants, and also because Midorima knew his presence would bring no solace or reprieve to Akashi, not in these moments. He does embrace the redhead when the doors open and Akashi steps through, shutting the door behind them. Akashi’s face is void of tears, but his eyes were missing their usual fire. The sunset makes the red handprint on his face look all the more alarming, and Midorima covers the distance between them in a quick two steps, arms reaching to wrap around the other, one arm pressing against Akashi’s back and shoulders, the other stroking red locks as a cheek rests against his shoulder.
> 
> Neither makes a comment when they break apart, despite Midorima’s sleeve being damp and Akashi’s eyes rimmed with red, they just walk to _their_ home, hand in hand.

Akashi’s grip has always been exceptionally strong and tight. It is this grip that lets him hold on to what he wants, it is this grip that lets him execute his passes with such control and dexterity, and it is with this grip that he holds on to Midorima’s hand.

Midorima’s grip on the other hand is soft, but firm. It is the same that he uses to shoot his three-pointers with such assurance and confidence in its outcome, just as Midorima is so sure of _this,_ of _them_ at this moment.

 

* * *

 

 

Midorima had always known that they weren’t meant to last, but he intends to drag this out for as long as he can. He does love Akashi, and he knows Akashi does love him, but their arguments had been getting more and more frequent.

 

Oha Asa reminds him that Sagittarius and Cancer weren’t compatible. Midorima gives no answer.

Mathematics gives him a depressing outlook on the probability of ideal outcomes. Midorima shelves it at the back of his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

They were both still fit despite the years. Although their physique was less powerful than Aomine’s, who had a sparkling repertoire of victories in professional basketball, the lean muscles from high school basketball were still well-maintained.

They both never had the builds suited for Aomine’s raw power anyway.

Akashi always had a more lithe, graceful, yet sharp edge to his movements, and Midorima’s movements were all well-practiced, ingrained deeply into his muscle memory, and executed with a practical sophistication. Even after many years without dutifully shooting his accurate threes, Midorima remembers the motions of his body that lead up to his signature high arc as well as he remembers the lines of Akashi’s back, and the shifting muscles beneath pale skin as they lie in bed together.

 

* * *

 

 

Midorima works as a doctor in a nearby hospital, and he enjoys his job. He specialises in neurosurgery and related areas, but most of the patients get assigned to those under him. He had trained them well enough, but he himself would only take on the most complicated of cases, or deal with concerned relatives rather than the operation itself. Midorima was composed enough, and informed enough to soothe most frantic relatives.

He still does a dozen or so surgeries a week, but most fell within working hours, and Midorima was content to spend his mornings and nights with Akashi. The hospital was also well-staffed, enough to ensure that there would always be someone on hand in emergency cases, and enough so that it didn’t have to be Midorima. In fact, Midorima finds himself visiting the children’s ward more often. They seemed to find his lucky items exciting, and he did enjoy seeing them smile.

Akashi works at home, and maximises the fortune his dad had finally handed over to him. He had appointed many trusted individuals to oversee the business itself, most of them acquainted from his high school years, and he bid his time at home, making bold deals that paid off tenfold due to his uncanny ability to predict. Despite having less of a hand in it than when he was in school, the Akashi Corporation had only flourished.

Usually Midorima and Akashi run together in the mornings as part of their usual routine. They were too used to gruelling basketball training to wean off physical activity totally. Akashi holds permanent membership to the best gym in town, and Midorima always tags along with Akashi every Saturday afternoon after a short jog. Routine was important to Midorima, and he thought Akashi realises that. It was the only semblance of order he could rely on in the ever dynamic and chaotic atmosphere in the hospital that white walls and orderly wards cannot hide. People stream through the hospital and many leave soon enough in varying conditions.

 

* * *

 

It was a Saturday, and Midorima rises to pristine sheets devoid of one redhead, a damp white towel hung out to dry on their bedroom balcony, and the warmth of sunlight falling on Midorima’s face. Akashi had always been an early riser, and Midorima remembers the days before they had become _us,_ and Akashi’s father had assigned Akashi to mountainous piles of paperwork and projects, where Akashi would stay up to 4am on average, but still rise earlier than Midorima.

Midorima heads to the shower out of habit, despite knowing he would be going running afterward. He enjoys the warm steam from early morning showers, where warm water would hit the cold tiles, and soothe the chill from Midorima’s skin. As he exits, he sees Akashi is perched on a cushion before a low table, gazing at a shogi board thoughtfully. The steam from the pair of cups of green tea at either side of the board mixes with the warm moist air from the bathroom door Midorima had just emerged from clad in running clothes, expectant for their morning run.

He falters when he sees Akashi clad in a simple yukata. It wasn’t the first time Akashi had forsaken his regular run, and his visits to the gym were also starting to get irregular. Heterochromatic eyes look up at him, and hands start absently rearranging the pieces.

 

 

> “Play with me, Shintarou.”
> 
> “Seijuurou.” Midorima admonishes. “Stop playing around, let’s go run”

_You know how much of a stickler I am for routine. Why are you doing this?_

 

 

> “I don’t want to.” Akashi’s eyes stay trained on the board, and Midorima feels his face heat up with a burst of impatience.
> 
> “What is wrong with you lately?!” Midorima’s volume rises, and he feels a strange sense of satisfaction when Akashi flinches and directs his gaze to the side.
> 
> “You don’t do anything with me anymore! Are you tiring of me?! Is that it? You don’t deem me worthy of your absolute attentions?”

 

Akashi stiffens, and his loosely worn yukata slides off one of his shoulders, and Midorima knows he is heading into forbidden territory. He feels a tinge of guilt at bringing up the past, Akashi has apologised for it way too many times, but Akashi’s gaze stubbornly remains on the board, and Midorima’s anger only grows.

 

>  
> 
> “I’m leaving,” Midorima states, steel underlining his angry tone.

 

He’s sure he did not see Akashi’s shoulders shake, or a shogi piece drop to the floor as he turns and leaves.

* * *

 

Midorima comes back home well into the afternoon, and he makes out a flash of red under the sheets of their bed. Approaching the bedroom door, Midorima catches sight of a note placed on the very table where the shogi board had last occupied, weighted down by one of Akashi’s treasured ornate pieces.

A peace offering? Midorima wonders.

He reads the note.

> _I apologise for today. Would you be partial to a picnic tomorrow?_
> 
> _I love you,  
>  Seijuurou_

The ‘I’ in ‘I love you’ was darker at the top, as if Akashi had hesitated while writing it, but Midorima can’t find it in him to stay mad at Akashi.

He approaches the bed, pulling down the duvet to brush long crimson bangs from Akashi’s face, before bending down to plant a kiss on his forehead. As he draws back though, a hand shoots out and grips his wrist.

> “I’m sorry. I love you, Shintarou, please don’t go. Don’t leave me,” Akashi mumbles.

Midorima swears he can feel his heart breaking, but he pries Akashi’s fingers off his wrist. A small fist clenches around nothing once, grabs at the sheets, then relaxes, but Akashi’s face didn’t seem as peaceful as it was.

* * *

Midorima takes a bath, and reheats food to eat for… it was already too late for it to be deemed ‘breakfast’. As he eats, he notices the mat under the table seems to be off centre. Midorima lifts one side and notices pale splotches on the wooden parquet flooring, akin to those you get after spilling liquids onto wooden floors, except these were much smaller like drops… oh.

Leaving it be, he washes his plate, before joining Akashi on the bed. As the bed dips, the redhead shifts nearer, curling around Midorima. The sun was reaching its peak now, and the afternoon air was warm and languid. When was the last time that they had spent a lazy afternoon together? Midorima cannot recall.

He feels arms snake around him, and he knows Akashi is at least half conscious, he had always been a light sleeper even though he had seemed to spend much more time in bed nowadays. Midorima’s arms encircle around the smaller male, and pulls him closer, tucking the mop of red hair under his chin, and inhaling a scent that was solely Akashi. Akashi without expensive cologne, or the clean smell of spotless air-conditioned function rooms, or paper and ink, but Akashi smelling of Midorima’s shampoo and sandalwood soap and a dozen complex notes. Midorima thought he recognised a hint of… of… he couldn’t place it, but it had seemed oddly familiar yet wrong.

 

 

They only rise as the sun starts to set, and bleeding rays that could rival Akashi’s hair painted strokes on the walls.


End file.
